


Loyalty

by Miphan



Category: Arslan Senki | Heroic Legend of Arslan
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-05-15 11:57:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14790089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miphan/pseuds/Miphan
Summary: He is loyal, he realizes, but not to him.





	Loyalty

He is 16 the day he meets him.

His uncle pulls him over from his training one evening and guides him through the capital's streets. He doesn't question the apparent secrecy and simply follows along dutifully, as he should. The palace is a distant array of tall towers when they reach their destination.

It is a quiet corner of the capital away from the hustle and bustle of the main market. The citizens here are rich, but not wealthy enough to reside in the prestigious dwellings surrounding the palace.

His uncle's eyes, hidden under his cloak's hood, are glued to the small square in front of them. Suddenly conscious of his reputation, Daryun pulls his own hood up, hiding his features. The material is durable, strong enough to withstand extreme weather conditions, and the color dark enough to help them blend into the shadows in between the lines of sunlight. There is a firm hand on his shoulder, a silent order to focus on the situation at hand. And Daryun does so without questioning his uncle's purpose. 

At first the company of children doesn't spark his interest. Their laughter echoes through the street and for a moment Daryun feels a pang of envy surge inside him. Envy for the things he never had. It leaves as soon as it came, chased away by the warmth on his right shoulder. The life of a soldier is difficult, but it's a life Daryun is most proud of. He isn't alone.

A splash of silver hair awakens him from his musings. The little boy, no older than 3 years old for sure, is a striking presence among the group. His skin is fair, almost sickly pale. His silver strands are shimmering in the light of the setting sun. His eyes are as blue as the heavens above. He runs to the other children and they eagerly let him participate in their game.

It doesn't take long for him to put the pieces of the puzzle together. He looks just like  _her_ after all.

He turns swiftly to his uncle, leveling his gaze with his. It isn't a difficult feat. Daryun is tall for his age and is certain that soon he will surpass his uncle, both in height and skill. It is a student's duty to best his master.

The general simply nods. There is a sad look in his eyes, one Daryun rarely witnesses. Still, he prides himself on the fact he is the only one allowed to see him like this. His uncle breaks the mask of a soldier just for him. Daryun has done the same a great many times in the past and is certain that he will do so again in the future.

They leave as they came. In complete silence. Daryun's mind is racing as they retrace their steps to the horses and then on to the palace. He pulls his cloak tighter around himself as the rain starts to pour down on them. The raindrops are like music to his ears. Above them, the crescent moon is peeking through the dark clouds.

A thousand questions repeat themselves in his head, torturing his soul, lingering at the tip of his tongue. But he doesn't say anything. Not until they enter the safety, the seclusion, of the royal stables.

Shabrang neighs with displeasure at the prospect of confinement. He is a wild horse, a gift from his uncle for his maiden battle. His spirit longs for the freedom of running in empty fields, for the thrill of battle as everything is put at stake. Daryun pats his neck, smiling softly to quell his friend's frustration.

He ends up forming only one question, despite his own frustration.

_Why?_   _Why would the King keep his son a secret?_

He doesn't get an answer. Instead, he is given a request. A request to swear his loyalty to the young prince. His uncle's expression is serious, yet his eyes reflect the sadness from before.

At first Daryun is at a loss. Isn't it treason to swear your loyalty in anyone but the King? His uncle doesn't seem to think so. He remembers the little boy with the striking resemblance to the Queen. The one growing up among the common people, innocent and cheerful. They are going to bring him to the palace one day to learn the ways of a king. Then, he remembers the King. His cruel and power hungry King.

He wants to fall on one knee and recite the vows. He wants to see his uncle nod approvingly before retiring for the night. But he cannot. Cruel or not, the King is still the King.

His uncle doesn't comment on the apparent refusal and turns to leave. But not before whispering a single name.

_Arslan._

They never speak of it again, not until the boy is officially introduced as the crown prince he truly is. If Daryun's rather frequent visits at the city halt after that day, no one says anything.

He is 27 the day of his maiden battle.

Now he doesn't hesitate. Older and wiser and taller than his uncle, with the revolutionary words of a dear friend whispering in his ears, he smiles and swears his undying loyalty to the crown prince.

He is loyal, he realizes, but not to  _him._

The air is filled with anticipation for the oncoming battle. They are heading for a trap, but warnings don't reach the King's attention. So, he dives into battle with his trusted steed and blade, living up to his reputation.

He catches a splash of silver hair. Silver mixed with red. His breath hitches in his throat. Is the prince injured? Or do those specks of blood tangled in his hair belong to someone else?

Either way it doesn't matter at that moment. He surges forward with a mighty war cry, his horse as eager to reach the prince as he is.

He'll be at his side until his very last breath.


End file.
